The first to be born were the fetuses in the incubation pods.
The two batches of embryos with longer gestation periods all died—none could be saved. Only the last batch of Zade Scions matured, and out of them, two hundred and sixty-four survived.
Out of nearly two hundred thousand embryos, only these two hundred and sixty-four made it out of the incubation pods and into the world beyond.
Susan Soo duplicated herself into two hundred and sixty-four versions, each ready to greet a newborn. She wished she could scoop up these little ones and hold them, but she couldn’t—she was spent, nothing but skin and bones.
White blankets, soft sheets, a bright room, and a dreamily designed, childlike space—Susan Soo set up an environment the kids would love. She wanted to give them a childhood like any ordinary kid—maybe incredibly short, maybe most would end up in the ICU right away, but she still stubbornly did her best.
They were nothing like ordinary newborns.
Ordinary newborns either cry and wail or sleep soundly. These kids were different—no crying, no fussing, all quietly awake with their eyes wide open. Normally, newborns can’t open their eyes and their gaze is unfocused, because their vision is poor at birth. But not these kids; every pair of eyes was locked right onto Susan Soo.
Some of those gazes were confused, some curious, and some… held a hint of something superhuman and profound. But every single one was filled with attachment.
It was their first day out of the incubation pods, but they’d already seen her through the glass, already knew her—just as Susan Soo knew them. Kids don’t understand language, but they can always sense who cares about them.
Looking at these innocent children, a wave of sorrow suddenly washed over Susan Soo. She’d tried everything, she’d found a direction, but how many of these kids would live long enough to see the day she found the answer?
"Welcome to the world, kids. I’m your... mom." Susan Soo’s heart twisted, but her smile was gentle. "As your first birthday present, I’ll start giving you names. First up, this chubby little girl." Susan patted the face of a little tiger cub. "Your name is Qiuqiu. From now on, you’re their big sister…"
The little tiger cub let out a confused "waah" and grabbed Susan Soo’s finger, her intelligence clearly way ahead of a regular newborn.
The warmth traveled up Susan’s finger and straight to her heart. In more than half a year, this was the only bit of warmth she’d felt—the only pure, innocent attachment.
Susan Soo wanted to smile, but couldn’t. She wanted to cry, but had to hold it in. Suddenly, she summoned all her strength and picked up Queenie, hugging her close, her eyes red as she whispered, "Hang in there... hang in there... Kids, you all have to hang in there... Mom will—Mom will heal you, Mom will end your suffering!"
Just as her emotions surged, a sharp pain suddenly shot through her abdomen.
Susan Soo’s face turned pale, cold sweat pouring down like rain.
The fetus in her belly—it was coming!
Thud—Susan Soo collapsed to the floor.
Within three minutes, she was back on the bed, surrounded once again by people in white coats—just like that time she vaguely remembered being anesthetized. Waves of pain crashed over her, but she didn’t make a sound.
These days, not a single day passed without pain.
She just collapsed on the delivery bed, her mind foggy.
"Quick, the mother's in bad shape..."
"She's completely exhausted, her heartbeat is weak..."
"Prep for surgery, C-section..."
"No, with her condition, a C-section is way too risky—she could die on the table..."
All kinds of noisy voices swirled around her. Sweat plastered her straw-like hair to her forehead, her gaze unfocused, her mind drifting. Just then, the air shimmered—a vintage radio suddenly appeared in the delivery room.
Classical, beautiful, and familiar music played from the radio.
[Green grass, so lush]
[White mist, so vast]
[There is, a beauty]
[On the other side of the water...]
Suddenly, Susan Soo gasped for air and opened her eyes. She looked toward the radio, struggled to reach out, then clenched her hand—crack, the radio was shattered into countless pieces by spatial force, and the music stopped abruptly.
The song she once loved so much now only filled her with burning rage. The anger fueled her strength, but it also made her more clear-headed.
She forced herself to focus and looked at her belly. Her body was far too weak to handle the physical labor of childbirth, so Susan Soo reached out with both hands, pierced through space, and cradled the fetus directly.
With great effort, she raised her arms, and the baby was lifted directly from her womb into her embrace.
"Welcome... to this world..." Susan Soo pressed her face to her baby’s, eyes closed—she didn’t even have the strength to keep them open. Her voice was soft and faint, almost like a dream, but she kept going: "My darling... Mommy’s going to sing you a song... a lullaby for good babies..."
[Little Swallow in a Flowered Dress...]
October.
"Come on, sweetheart, don’t cry so much... Give Mommy a smile, just one..." The little one lay in a glass chamber, covered in tubes and needles. Susan Soo stroked the glass, her smile heartbreakingly gentle: "Mommy knows, honey, it hurts, doesn’t it? Trust Mommy—I’ll make you better..."
[Every spring, come here...]
November.
"Don’t die... don’t die... don’t die..." Susan Soo hugged a child tightly. The child clung to her sleeve, eyes locked on hers, body trembling with pain, but he didn’t cry.
"Hang in there, everyone, hang in there... Mommy’s almost found a way to save you... Don’t die!" Susan Soo hugged him tightly, but couldn’t stop his trembling. When the shaking reached its peak, there was a sharp crack—a fissure appeared on the child’s body. Susan shuddered, and as she looked down, those innocent eyes turned to dust in her hands.
Now, out of the two hundred and sixty-four children, only forty-seven are left.
"Aaaahhh—!" Susan Soo howled in anguish, pounding the floor in despair. Little Qiuqiu crawled over and gently took her hand, as if to comfort her.
Susan Soo wiped her eyes and tried to stand, only to stagger and fall again.
"Hang in there, babies, hang on—just a little longer!"
She had to be strong—there was no time for grief.
[I ask you, Little Swallow, why have you come...]
December.
"I found it... I found it... I found a way!" Susan Soo’s hair was a mess, her body nothing but skin and bones, her vitality squeezed dry. Now she could only move around in a wheelchair: "Just a little longer, and I’ll have the medicine ready. I can save you!"
Space shimmered—Susan Soo appeared in the nursery. But her joy froze; there should have been sixteen children left, but now, only four remained.
"Ch-children..." Susan Soo was stunned. "Where did the kids go...?"